


The Wrong Kind of Service

by Pollydoodles



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 14:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7621570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pollydoodles/pseuds/Pollydoodles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's therapist suggests he gets a service dog. <br/>It doesn't really work out that way, for anyone involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wrong Kind of Service

"What are you looking at, Buck?" Steve said with interest over his shoulder from where he was making coffee in the kitchen. 

Bucky was sat on a kitchen stool hunched over the laptop Darcy had set up for him, having patiently sat teaching him night after night how to use it. Somehow all whilst managing to keep him from tossing it off the 39th floor balcony, which was no small feat of accomplishment. 

"Attack dogs."

"Attack- I thought the guy said service dog?" Steve turned in alarm. 

Bucky's therapist - paid for by Stark and insisted upon by Steve - had suggested the idea offhandedly a week or so previous. Steve had gotten the impression that the slightly nervous man who tapped his pen against his clipboard through every appointment hadn't really expected Bucky to listen to him. 

Bucky grunted in response and kept scrolling.   
Steve eyed the laptop screen over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

"A service dog might be a good idea." Steve said cautiously, moving to stand behind Bucky, one hand on the other man's shoulder and the other wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. 

Bucky snorted without looking up. "Ain't getting a dog with handlebars."

"Handlebars?" Steve creased his forehead in confusion. "No, Buck - a service dog just kind of, I don't know, is like a friend for you."

"Got you for that, ain't I?"

"I - well - yes -" Steve struggled to find the words to contradict the man in front of him, feeling wrong-footed in the worst way, by logic that couldn’t possibly be defined as logic, and yet had knocked him on his ass, metaphorically speaking. 

"Haven't got an attack dog." Bucky said with a significant degree of satisfaction at having made his point, scrolling still and leaning closer to the screen as he read carefully. 

"Well I haven't got a pump action assault rifle, doesn't mean I need to get on eBay and buy one." Steve pointed out, repressing the urge to tip the remains of his coffee over the other man's head.

"Can't buy dogs on eBay." Bucky replied, with all the wisdom of someone who'd tried that first.

"Do I even wanna know what type of dog you're looking at?" Steve said with resignation, draining what was left in the mug and leaning with both arms on Bucky's shoulders, peering over at the screen. He had a nasty feeling that Bucky’s dog would come with lots of teeth and a significant amount of muscle.

"Chihuahua." Came the response, and Steve promptly choked in Bucky's ear. Straightening up and trying to hold back his laughter, the blond attempted to control himself. The other man, engrossed in his web page, paid him no attention.

"I'm not sure that's the dog you want, Buck." Steve said with an indulgent smile, squeezing his hand on the other man’s shoulder as he spoke. The dark-haired man scoffed in response. 

"Says right here.” He tapped the screen in front of him, still not looking round at Steve. “'Chihuahuas can be easily provoked to attack'. 'Not suitable for homes with children.'" Bucky nodded approvingly as he finished reading. Steve winced. 

"Yeah, pal, see - the thing with a Chihuahua-"

"Excellent watch dogs." Bucky intoned over him, reading from the screen and one index finger jabbing at the black and white text in triumph. Steve rubbed at his forehead and wondered how he was going to persuade his friend out of this one. 

\--------

“A Chihuahua?” 

The assembled group look confused to a one. Sam threw him a disbelieving look whilst Natasha took another sip of coffee, regarding him steadily over the edge of it. Tony squinted at him over the tablet he had in front of his face, then shook his head and refocused back on the screen. Banner stayed quiet. 

“That’s what he said.” Steve answered, hands in the air in a don’t-shoot-the-messenger movement. Sam threw Natasha a loaded look, and she returned it before pulling out her phone from her jeans pocket and tapping furiously at the screen. 

"The Chihuahua,” She announced to the room, reading from her phone. “A one person dog that would suit a recluse or a loner." Natasha paused and raised an eyebrow. Steve purposefully looked away from Sam, who grinned widely. 

"I'm not making the joke." Stark pointed out. "I want to, but I'm not. I deserve a lot of praise for the restraint I'm showing."

“Yes alright, Tony, we hear you.” Steve said, shaking his head and moving towards the redhead to pluck the phone from her hands. He squinted at the screen, reading quickly. Nothing in the article reassured him about the dog Bucky was set on having. 

“It’s important to both me and the therapist Pepper pays that you acknowledge this achievement.”   
“Tony-” Steve threatened without looking at the other man. 

"Didn't he look at Google images?" Sam said quizzically, peering over Steve’s shoulder at the phone. A myriad photos of tiny dogs danced across the screen, all bug-eyed and big eared. Steve sighed. 

"I don't think he knows how."

"Barton has a dog." Banner pointed out mildly from the other end of the kitchen. The others looked at him. He shrugged in response and shovelled in another mouthful of cornflakes before readjusting the glasses on the end of his nose and turning back to his newspaper. 

"Yes but Barton is a responsible..." Stark trailed off and tried again. "Barton's a respon- No, I can't say it. It's not possible." 

Natasha retrieved her phone from Steve and shoved it back in her pocket before draining the last of her coffee. She looked up at the concerned blond towering over her and poked him in the stomach with a delicate finger. 

"Let him have one. What's the worst that could happen?"

\-------

"Bit small isn't it, Barnes?" Sam said critically, arms crossed over his chest and looking down at the small crate which contained an even smaller dog. It sat, looking up at Sam with what could only be described as an appraising look in its tiny eye. Sam couldn’t place his finger on quite why, but if pushed he’d have to conclude that the dog wasn’t impressed. 

"It's a puppy. They grow. It's what small things do." Bucky said confidently, and Nat shot a sly look towards Steve. Stark groaned from behind them.

"For Gods sake," he said, head in hands. "I am trying here, really trying, and you're all making it so goddamn hard." Steve shouldered him good-naturedly.

\-------

“Still not any bigger?” Steve asked sympathetically, clapping a hand to Bucky’s shoulder and looking down at the dog on his lap. The dog bared its teeth at him and Steve took a subconscious step back. 

“He has grown one point six seven inches since he arrived.” Bucky said firmly. “And he has gained 3 ounces.”

“How the hell did you work that out?” Steve asked, leaving aside the fact that, despite apparently having grown, Bucky’s dog was still no bigger than a particularly average sized rat. 

Bucky gave him a sidelong glance that told Steve exactly how stupid his friend thought that question was. “I weighed him, Steve.”

“I didn’t think the bathroom scales were that incremental.”

“They’re not. I put him on the kitchen scales.” 

“Buck-” Steve groaned. It had been hard enough to get the others to accept Bucky with all the eccentricities that came with being a man out of time, let alone all the interesting little character quirks Hydra had thoughtfully left with him. Using the kitchen scales to weigh a dog none of them had really wanted him to have might just be the tipping point. 

\-------

“Oh hey, a dog.” Barton bent down to greet Bucky’s dog with a lopsided smile, adjusting his quiver over his shoulder, and half the kitchen shouted as one to try and stop him. 

“What the hell are you feeding that thing?” Barton yelped as he snatched his arm back, clutching it to his chest as the dog growled loudly and snapped at his ankles. He threw Bucky a wounded look. “Are you feeding it at all? Clint’s fingers aren’t on the menu, buddy.” 

This last he addressed to the dog, which barked at him in response. 

“He’s not a pet.” Bucky said firmly. 

“Are we even sure it’s a dog?” Stark remarked, safely on the other side of the kitchen counter. Both Bucky and his dog shot him a dirty look. 

\-------

“What’s that you’re feeding him?” Steve asked suspiciously, peering over at the contents of the dog bowl Bucky had just set on the floor of the kitchen. 

“Whey protein.” He answered, straightening up. 

“I’m not sure that dogs oughta eat that, buddy.” Steve said, looking down at the dog. 

“He likes it.” Bucky answered, gesturing to the dog, who was indeed lapping enthusiastically at the mix poured into his bowl. Steve stared at the dog, then back at Bucky. 

“Just because he likes it, doesn’t mean he should have it.”

Bucky shrugged.

\------

“I don’t know what to do, Nat.” Steve said, only just resisting the urge to put his head in his hands. “He takes it everywhere with him. He even strapped it into the co-pilot seat of the Quinjet yesterday.”

He looked up at her hopelessly, and the redhead gazed back at him impassively. 

“You, Steve Rogers, are expressing surprise that James Barnes is obsessing over a tiny scrappy animal that doesn’t seem to realise how small it is and wants to fight everyone that crosses its path.” Natasha looked at him steadily. “Interesting.”

“Very funny, Nat.” Steve mumbled. 

“It wasn’t a joke.” She replied. 

\--------

Natasha, curled up on a chair and reading a book, looked down at the small dog which sat in front of her, staring up at the woman. It growled, a small burr in the back of its throat that rose and rose, its eyes narrowing at her. 

She extended one delicate foot, pointed, and brought it close to the little dog’s chest. The dog took half a step back, eyes still locked upon Natasha. “Go away.” She said firmly. “I am a cat person.”

The dog sniffed, then turned and stalked away. 

\--------

“It’s like the anti-Hulk.” Tony said critically, hands on hips as he looked down at the scrappy little thing patrolling the living room. “Tiny body, lots of pent up aggression.”

Bruce looked up at him, and sighed, refusing stoically to take the bait. He pushed hand through his hair, ruffling his salt and pepper curls, and cautiously moved his legs up onto the couch out of the dog’s way. It stalked past, sniffing the air as it went, looking for all the world as though it owned the place. 

“It’s definitely got short man syndrome, that’s for sure.” He admitted, peering down at it as it wandered past him, little claws clicking officiously against the hardwood flooring as it went. “Uh, don’t tell Barnes I said that.”

\--------

“You can upgrade him.”

Bucky placed the tiny dog on Stark’s workbench, and put his hands on his hips. The dog growled at the confused scientist in front of him, then patrolled the bench before returning to sit in front of Bucky. 

“Uh, what?” Stark looked to Steve, who shrugged in response. 

“I saw it before.” Bucky said, looking down at the dog who gazed back up at him solemnly. “He needs a superbark, and maybe super speed. You do these sorts of things, you can figure it out.”

“Okay,” Steve said, putting his hands up, and pointing first at Bucky. “Firstly, that was a film, and it was animated. Secondly-” He pointed to Stark, who was starting to looking interested. “Animal experimentation is illegal, and for good reason. You are not doing anything to this dog.”

He finished up by pointing to the dog, who snapped at his finger and grazed the end of it with razor sharp little teeth. Steve swore colourfully under his breath and jerked his finger back. 

“Sure about that?” Tony said with a smirk from the other side of the table. Steve grimaced. 

“But you remember those guys,” Bucky argued, scooping up the dog and tucking him into the crook of one arm. The dog settled there like a king being paraded in front of bowing subjects, and Steve frowned. “The ones we met the other month. That guy had a super powered dog.”

Steve did remember. Steve had been trying to forget. 

“He wasn’t a dog, he was a raccoon, and he wasn’t that guy’s pet, either.”

“He had a rocket launcher.” Bucky said. 

“Yes, I remember.”

“I liked the rocket launcher.” Bucky said, looking down at the dog cradled in his arm and smiling gently. The dog licked his chin. 

“Yes. I. Remember.”

“You know,” Stark said thoughtfully as the soldiers left the lab. “I could make him a tiny Iron Man suit. Technically, that wouldn’t be animal experimentation.”

“You want to give that thing the tools to be more aggressive?” Banner said incredulously from the other side of the lab. 

\--------

“Suit up.”

Bucky’s words were accompanied by Steve’s suit hitting him squarely in the chest. Steve for his part jerked awake and scrambled his way off the couch, blinking blearily and shucking his jeans without thinking. 

He was into the suit pants and half way to zipping up the top before he thought to ask why they were suiting up. 

“Uh, Buck?” Steve asked, hauling up first one red boot and then the next. “What’s the emergency?”

Bucky, already zipped into his tac suit and snapping together the last parts of an AK:47, several other guns and at least three knives that Steve could see already strapped to his body, turned and fixed Steve with a hard stare. 

“Castro’s missing.”

“Castro? Isn’t he pushing 90 now?” Steve answered, confused, tugging on his gloves. “I wouldn’t have thought he’d be an issue-”

“Not that one.” Bucky said with a sigh, slinging the gun over his shoulder as he spoke. “The dog. My dog. Castro.”

“You called the dog Castro?” Steve asked, stopping what he was doing, one glove on and the other dangling from his left hand as he stared at the dark-haired man in front of him. 

“I know, right?” Stark said drily, wandering in behind Bucky, half-clad in the latest incarnation of the Iron Man suit. “When Stalin would have been so much more appropriate.”

“You know Castro’s Cuban?” Steve said, ignoring Tony. “Chihuahuas are Mexican.” Bucky shrugged. 

“Come on.” The dark-haired man said shortly, turning on his heel and giving Stark a cursory once over before leaving the living room. Steve, slowly putting on the other glove, came to rest next to the billionaire. 

“Could we not, just… Leave it?” He said under his breath, one hand scratching at the back of his head as he looked, somewhat guiltily, towards the man beside him. Stark sucked in a deep breath, one hand clasped to his chest and a look of shock painted across his face. 

“Steven Rogers.” The other man said. “How could you possibly even suggest such a thing? Leave a poor, defenceless-” Steve shot him a pointed look. “Alright. It’s not defenceless, but the poor bastard it’s probably gnawing on right now is, so we should at least go and save that person.”

Steve sighed.

“Agreed.”

\-------

“You know, he’s more grounded now.” 

Steve looked up at Natasha from where she’d perched herself neatly on the edge of the couch, and snorted. “That thing’s a menace, and you know it, Nat. How many hours did it take to round it up last week?” He shook his head. It wasn’t a pleasant memory. 

“I meant Barnes.” She said, throwing a cushion at his head, which he deflected easily. 

“You think?” He said doubtfully. Natasha nodded. 

“The thing is evil incarnate, don’t get me wrong.” Steve repressed the urge to look over his shoulder and check for the dog as she was speaking, then reminded himself that it didn’t actually know when it was being talked about. Probably. 

“But it’s given him a purpose, something to focus his energies on instead of hating himself for something he couldn’t control.” She shrugged, inspecting her nails. “That can’t be a bad thing.”

Steve looked up at her again, processing what she’d said. Bucky did seem a little calmer, less prone to fly off the handle. The therapist seemed a little less on edge - at least, the times when Bucky went alone and didn’t take the dog. 

“I guess you’re right.”

Nat leaned forward and patted him on the shoulder. 

“I usually am.”


End file.
